Hello,
With warmer weather comes the need to barbecue.
For those of you who are foreign firstly, it is not your fault. Secondly, barbecues are a recent phenomenonenonenonenon here in the UK. Microwaving is our traditional way of cooking.
I’ve tried to Barbecue with a microwave oven, but the oven melts a bit.
Making a barbecuing microwave oven is on my list of things to do, in between rowing across the Atlantic and visiting the dentist.
We had a BBQ lat Saturday. My lovely wife Shirley, whose topless sunbathing can still be seen on Google Earth despite her writing to the NSA and GCHQ, invited our neighbours Gwen and Martin Slope.
Martin is a food inspector for the local Council. Before you could say, “I’d give the chicken another ten minutes Bob, there’s blood seeping out of this one,” he’s slapped a food safety notice on me and chided me for scratching my nuts whilst handling raw food. Not exactly a barrel of laughs is Martin. Cholera is more fun
“Fat Twat!” Shirley jokingly called me as she poked the snapped cork into the bottle of Estonian Pinot Grigio. Wine with cork bits floating in it always tastes better.
Then she started wailing, “Last Christmas” by Wham. Martin served a noise abatement notice on her. But that’s my Shirley!
A drunkard.
Ever since, I’ve been in the smallest room for hours on end, caning the rolls of frozen Andrex. I should have given that chicken five more minutes.
Think I’ll put the Barbie away. Stick to the microwave. Food you can trust. 5 A Day? My arse!
Martin and Gwen put their house up for sale yesterday.
Bob
